The Mortal Instruments: City of Heavenly Fire
by LittleMissMorgenstern
Summary: FOR CLABASTIAN SHIPPERS ONLY! The title of the first chapter says it all. Sorry for the delay on the third chapter; I've had some family issues.
1. Sleeping With the Enemy

Clary woke, gasping out of a dream of a city all of blood, with towers made of bone, blood raining down from a scarlet sky.

She sat bolt upright, clawing at her chest to wipe away the last remnants of her dream. Her palms were wet and clammy, her hair pasted to her neck with sweat. The light in the room was dim, the witchlight lamp on the bedside table the only illumination, giving off a whitish glow that cast a pool of light on the black marble floor; red fabric was strewn across it, like puddles of blood.

She was on a bed whose white sheets were twisted about her ankles in a tight spiral. The room itself was large, windowless, with wood panelled walls. There was no furniture in the room, save for the bed and its nightstand. Across from her was a door; light flooded through the gap beneath it, carrying warm steam into the room like smoke from a smoke machine.

Clary was dimly aware that her muscles ached; her back felt twisted, as if she had slept at a funny angle, and her lip felt strangely swollen. She frowned as she climbed out of bed –

And the bathroom door swung open.

Sebastian stood in the doorway in a cloud of bright light and steam, the light filtering around him like a golden flame. He'd clearly taken a shower; his silver-white hair was tousled and dripping water over his face and a plain white towel was slung about his waist, exposing his bare chest and the hard, compacted muscles beneath the skin. His eyes, Clary noticed, seemed to bulge out of his pale face, like black rocks of burning coal.

He ran a hand through his fair hair; it came away dripping. "Awake so early, little sis?" he said. "I would've assumed after last night you'd be snoring and drooling until noon."

Clary tried not to stare at his bare torso as he came toward her, his feet leaving wet footprints on the marble. It was difficult, she thought, to hate someone so striking. Steam rose off of him like smoke off a fire, and when he reached her, she could feel the heat of him radiating through her body. She hated it.

He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers shaping her jaw until they came to rest beneath her chin. He tilted her head back, his thumb running over her swollen lower lip. "Good. No real damage." His eyes searched her face. "The injuries were worth it though, right? Last night was…"

A small explosion went off in her head. She blinked. "What do you mean?"

The look on his face made her insides twist in on themselves. "You don't _remember_?" His grip tightened on her chin, nails digging in. "Clary, we…" He shook his head, releasing her chin. "Nothing a little Memory rune can't handle, I suppose." He rooted through the drawers on the nightstand before turning to her, stele in hand. Taking her by the arm, he scrawled a black Mark on her inner forearm, its touch burning.

As he drew, the room began shimmering around her, her vision blurring. Sebastian was now a faint glow in the dimness, silhouetted by the glow of the light streaming in from the bathroom. She felt his hand tighten around her arm as she stumbled into him, her face slamming into the wet skin of his chest. Her mind was whirling. Images darted in and out of view behind her eyelids.

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of her brother's heart as the Memory rune took effect.

There was a crash, followed by laughter she recognised as her own.

And then, suddenly, she was slammed back into her body, the events of the night before dragging her under:

Clary stood in front of a wooden door. She could still smell the sweet, rich smell of faerie drugs. Somewhere in the back of her mind she saw the explosion of sparks rain down around her like angels falling from the sky, spattering her hair and body with silver droplets.

She stormed through the door and slammed it behind her. The room had been in darkness; when she walked in, it blazed up in brilliant white witchlight, momentarily blinding her.

Her body felt drained. Her scarlet dress stuck to her like a second skin with sweat. She jerked at the straps now, wanting nothing more than to have the stupid, sticky thing off of her and climb into bed. It seemed to meld to her body. She gritted her teeth, tugged –

A hand came down on hers. She froze. It was a callused hand; she could feel the rough edges of battle scars. Her heart jumped in her chest. _Jace, _she thought. But no, she realized with a jolt. Jace's touch was warm, comforting, and sent bolts of electric coursing through her veins. But this touch only burned her skin like acid, and even before she turned, she knew exactly who it was.

Sebastian. He was looking down at her with serious black eyes. His face was streaked with silver powder as well, the sticky stuff matted in his fair hair. His mouth twitched at the corner. "Need a hand?"

His hand came down on her shoulder again; slowly he began to move the strap down her arm. Clary swallowed. "I have two, thanks," she said, and she found her gaze wandering to his lips. She wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. "Sebastian–"

"Clary." He moved toward her until they were pressed against each other. He was so much taller than she was, probably as much taller as Jace was.

Her strap draped down her arm now, but his hand continued to move, and a moment later his palm was pressed against the small of her back. With his other hand he reached to touch her cheek. It sent prickles over her skin.

"Sebastian–" She tried to disentangle herself, but his grip on her chin only tightened. "Let me go, Sebastian."

"You know," he said, "in movies, all this hatred you feel for me would be categorized as sexual attraction."

"Stop. I don't – I don't want this– You're my brother–"

"You never cared that I was your brother before." His eyes were blazing. "Either way, you're exactly like me."

Clary shook her head rapidly. "No, I'm – I'm not. I'm nothing like you–"

His grin was diabolical. "Oh, but you are." His grip on her chin loosened; slowly he began to move it down, his fingers scraping her throat. "You just won't admit it. You killed our father, never given it a second thought. You faked friendship, faked caring – why else would you be here? You came here, to Pandemonium, to spy on me, to fake caring for your big brother, when all along your only duty is to gather information for your little Shadowhunter friends." He chuckled at her gasp of surprise. "Now," he breathed, and his hand ran over her breasts. "Tell me you're nothing like me. Look me in the eye, and tell me we're not meant for each other."

She looked at him, _really _looked at him. His eyes were all black, with a ring of silver circling the pupil. They were fathomless, empty, like dark tunnels. _People often marvel at how alike you all are, _said the voice in her head. _He and your mother and yourself. His name is Jonathan; he has always protected you. He is your brother. He is your brother; he has always taken care of you. _She looked down, at his hand pressed against her chest.

She heard him suck in a breath. "You can't. You can't do it. Clary," he said, and pressed her against him with his hand at her back. Heat radiated off of him like fumes off a fire. She could feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, like the flutter of a bird's wings. "Who do we belong to but to each other?"

Clary craned her head – and did a double take. His eyes were no longer empty pits of black coal, but _green_, green as spring grass. So much like her own. _He has always had green eyes. _For some reason she saw whip marks and black eyes, but she didn't know why. "We belong with each other," she said as she realized.

"That's right," he said, and his mouth came down on hers, hard.

For a moment she was back in Idris, standing amongst the ruins of the Fairchild Manor, and Sebastian was kissing her. She remembered feeling the wrongness of the kiss, as if a dark hole had opened up in the ground, threatening to suck her in. But this – this felt _right_. She was a Morgenstern, he was a Morgenstern, and they were the only family they had – who else did they belong to but to each other?

She leaned against him. His lips moved against hers, hungrily. He tasted of acid. She reached up, fisting her fingers through his hair, yanking at the knots of silver powder. The darkness consumed her, licking up her body like wildfire. Her heart beat faster.

He gasped against her mouth. Clearly he hadn't expected her to kiss him back, but she did, she kissed him back with as much force as if she were pushing against a solid wall. The hand that was pressed against her chest fisted in her dress, and he pulled her toward him, their bodies melding together as if they were made for each other and no one else. Her hands explored his body, running over the muscles of his biceps, his solid chest – she could feel the pounding of his heart beneath her hands – her fingers racking up under his shirt and raking her nails across the skin there.

"Clary." He was gasping her name against her mouth. And then the kiss deepened, become more aggressive and fierce and _wanting_. She could feel that he wanted her, feel it in the way his hands ran over her body, shaping the curve of her breasts, her arms, his tongue licking across her lips, making her want more of him.

She made a noise of surprise but didn't pull away when he lifted her up and slammed her against the wall. She heard the sound of the wood cracking from the blow. He was pressed against her now, and his hands gripped around her thighs, nails digging in. Her legs, hitched around his waist, were shaking with burning desire. He was moaning against her mouth, making her want _more_. She could smell the wicked, acidic scent of him, ticking her nostrils. Her fingers were laced through his hair; his, on the other hand, were all over her, pulling at the straps on her dress and snapping them.

He bit down on her lower lip, hard. She tasted blood, her own, mixed with his – she must have bitten his lip, though she couldn't remember. He was driving her crazy, groaning against her mouth and pressing her back harder against the wall. His hand found the hem of her dress; slowly he began to trail his hand up her leg, and a moment later her dress was racked up around her waist, and he was carrying her over toward the bed.

She crashed against the scattered pillows. Sebastian was on top of her, hovering inches above her like a dark angel. He looked down at her with blazing eyes as his fingers tickled down her right leg, and he drew it up, hitching it around his hip. She closed her eyes. She could barely stand it, being so close to him and yet so far away – she wanted him against her, to feel the pulse at his throat, the smell the dark scent of him so there was nothing separating them –

And then his lips were moving against hers again, and she found herself smiling against his lips. The scent of him was concealed with sweat now, and he was panting, breathless. His fingers dug into her hips with so much force the dress ripped – and then he was tearing it off her, lifting her up so she sat against him while he tore impatiently at the material and flung the shreds across the room.

The room seemed to shimmer around her then, as if she were looking through a wall of water –

"You are mine now," Sebastian breathed against her neck. His teeth grazed her skin there, biting hard. She gasped. "You belong to me–"

She heard a chuckle.

Her eyes flew open. She was still in the same room, lying on the same bed, shreds of dress littering the floor. A wave of nausea gripped her – could all of that have been real? Did she really sleep with Sebastian? _Could_ she? No, she thought as glanced down, looking at the oversized shirt she wore. It barely covered her waist.

Another chuckle sounded through the room. Turning on her side, she saw Sebastian, kneeling beside the bed. His fair hair was still dripping water over his face, and that same plain white towel was still slung around his waist.

Clary sat bolt upright, spinning away from him. "No. Get away from me–"

He caught at her ankle, and jerked. She fell back against the bed, gasping. "Not so fast, little sis," said Sebastian. He shifted into her peripheral vision when he rose to his feet – but he kept hold of her ankle, slowly pulling it back and forth. She wondered if he was going to break her leg, but he just grinned. "Last night was fun, wasn't it? I certainly enjoyed myself–"

"I don't believe you," Clary spat. "What I saw – that wasn't what happened–"

"Wasn't it?" He stared down at her, and she noticed that his eyes were black again, like Valentine's. A moment passed before he released her leg and snorted. "Of course it didn't happen. I might want you, but not like that. I'm not big on incest."

Clary couldn't help a gasp of surprise. She blinked. _I might want you. _"But – but the dress – the floor–"

"That was when I pulled away." At the startled look on her face, his grin widened. "The majority of it happened. Right up until I tried to tear your dress off and you started screaming." He shrugged, turned away. "The rest I showed you was an illusion. But, tell me, was I good?"

She felt sick to her stomach. "Get _out_. I _hate_ you."

"Stop lying to yourself, Clary. I'm your brother." He walked toward the door, his eyes locked on her as he moved. "No matter what I do to you, no matter how many times you say you despise me, there will always be a small part of you that loves me because I'm your brother. You can't deny it. That's what it's like for me … with you." He opened the door. "I'll check in on you later. Get some sleep. We're marching to battle at sunrise, to kiss goodbye to your little Shadowhunter friends."

He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Clary laid across the bed, shaking as the tears came.


	2. Into the Gates of Hell

The crunch of their feet pounded through the otherwise eerie silence.

Clary, walking beside her brother, shuddered, and not due to the cold winter blasts of air clawing at her face. Whereas her eyes were fixated on the battlefield she was approaching, her mind was set on those she had abandoned back at home, and those who she would soon betray. She wondered how it had escalated to this. Six months ago she hadn't been informed of this world's existence, and a small fraction of her longed for the ordinariness of Brooklyn again, strolling around the city aimlessly with Simon.

But for the most part, she wouldn't change the path she was walking, not now, being so close to her brother in order to be the one to drive a dagger through his black heart. Clary was the only one Sebastian trusted enough to allow her to get so close to him. Now all she had to do was wait for the inopportune moment.

An abrupt blaze of brilliant light broke her out of her reverie. She froze midstep, and stared in horror.

When she had awoken this morning, dreary eyed and groggy, Sebastian had told her nothing of their destination, only informing her that tomorrow the Nephilim would be no more. Clary had wanted to launch him there and then but had steeled herself, knowing it would not work to her advantage to throw a temper tantrum. But she had never imagined, never conjured what she was witnessing now.

Clary stepped through a shimmering wall of some sort of damp substance that reminded her vaguely of the Malachi Configuration, with her brother at her side and the red-clad Endarkened marching obediently in rows on either side. And suddenly, she emerged onto the chaotic street of Fifth Avenue that belonged to New York.

Only, the city was unrecognizable. Black smoke clogged the air and blotted out the rising sun, the crystalline structures of the skyscrapers rising out of the fog like jagged sparkling teeth. Fires blazed up, bright in the dimness: there, a car burned to a cinder, a sparking exhaust clattered on the ground beside its remains; here, a small hound, its fur charred to ashes, half-supported by a sobbing little girl whose face was streaked with soot. And people! They were everywhere: abandoning their houses and tearing off down the street, avoiding rocketing pillars of glass as buildings came crashing to earth; Clary spotted an elderly woman stumbling over a garden fence in her haste as the windows of her home blew outward, spraying glass.

Their screams, combined with the insistent wailing of car alarms, ripped the air.

Clary whirled on her brother, who was watching the destruction unravel with a gleeful look on his face. "_What did you do_?"

"Surprised, little sister?" Sebastian asked, never taking his eyes off the chaotic street. "We have that in common, you and I."

"You said we were marching to battle at dawn!" Clary shouted over the screams. "You said -"

"I said," he interrupted, with slow precision, "what you were hoping to hear. You disappoint me, Clary," he said, and now his tone really did sound sad, though it didn't last, however, because a moment later he had turned on her, his dark eyes cutting into her like daggers. He was so close that she could see the flames reflected in his pupils. "Did you honesty believe that I would inform you of my intentions? Did you really think that I had forgiven you for that stunt you pulled with Glorious? You took me for a fool, sister."

Clary was breathing hard, smoke choking her lungs. "You won't accomplish whatever it is you're trying to do," she said. "You think - Do you really think you can win? The Shadowhunters will hunt you down like rabbits, _Jonathan,_ and I won't stop them from driving a sword through your heart when they come for you."

Sebastian grinned down at her, and she was once again reminded of how small she was to him in comparison. "That's what I was hoping for." And then, at her bewildered expression, he narrowed his eyes and said, _"Think,_ Clary. Why else would I have my forces destroy this city until it rains blood? Nephilim - they are duty-bound to protect civilization. _Think,_ Clary. Think."

She thought, and then she knew. And suddenly the chaos surrounding her dimmed and faded away into the smoke, and the screams muted to near-silence. There was only her brother and herself, and the pounding of her broken heart. "You planned this all along," she whispered, to herself, not caring whether he heard or not. "You knew, that if you were to invade the city, the Shadowhunters would come after you. Just like they did at the Citadel. And you would trick them, just like you did at the Citadel. You want them to come, so you can round them up like sheep and slaughter them." She raised her eyes to his. "Why?" She had meant to sound accusatory, but her voice came out in a plea.

He shrugged. Clary grabbed his wrist in a frenzy. "_Answer me!_"

Sebastian looked down pointedly at her small fingers circling his wrist, then back up at her. He glanced behind her then, and nodded once. A moment later two hands came down on her shoulders, pulling her back. She gasped and released her brother's wrist, turned to run, but Sebastian wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her, lifting her off her feet until she was able to land a solid blow to his stomach. He doubled over and released his hold, sending her crashing to the ground and landing painfully on shards of broken glass.

And then she sprang to her feet, and ran.

* * *

Jace struck the ground, hard, the headless corpse of an Endarkened at his feet. He watched with detached sadness as his seraph blade sizzled and burned away from the blood slicking its blade. He always felt an overwhelming sadness whenever he lost one of his blades, for they felt like an extension of his arm, and their absence was like losing a limb.

He pushed that feeling aside and scanned the space around him: The city was burning. Smoke shrouded the air and blocked out the rising sun, tendrils of thick black fog curling up from the burnt remains of vehicles, the brilliant blazes of flames in houses, and rising toward the sky to create a massive spiral like a whirlpool. Streaks of lightening sliced through the coiling smoke like glowing seraph blades.

And it was raining - ash, Jace thought. It showered down from collapsing buildings, carrying with it the jagged shards of broken glass. The ground beneath him had erupted underfoot a while ago like an earthquake, leaving in its destruction jagged peaks of tarmac protruding from the ground and massive indentations like gaping mouths.

The cries that ripped through the street made his heart contract in his chest. He had worked for the majority of his life to conceal his feelings from those around him, those who cared for him, even Alec, whom could read him like an open book. He had thought that he could never love anyone, would never be capable of feeling at all. But now, as he scoured his surroundings in abject horror did he realize that he hadn't been doing such a splendid job of shying away from his emotions and denying what he felt. Being a Shadowhunter - you had to care about others, their safety and their well-being and their lives, for he would not have thrown himself so blindlessely into battle, would he not? If he did not care, he would not have put his life on the line for the benefit of mundanes, would he have?

And Clary. Jace remembered the conversation they had shared the night Sebastian had trespassed into Idris. He recalled the way her hands, fingers gentle enough to grip a paintbrush and strong enough to grasp a dagger, shaking as she recalled what Sebastian had done to her. He remembered feeling so utterly useless, not knowing in which direction to take - he had held himself back from choking off his oxygen, from reaching up and tearing out his hair. And he knew, without question, that Clary would do the same. Would steel herself, let Sebastian have his way with her, if it meant the promise that she could save them at the cost of her soul.

Jace felt a burning rage seep up into his bones, making his vision focus until he could glimpse the red whirls of colour through the smoke: Endarkened. They whipped about him like sprays of blood, appearing in brief flashes to drive a blade through the chest of a mundane, or to slice their swords across their throats, only to blink out of existence again. Jace knew they had only faded into the smoke, and that if he were to step forward into the darkness, he would be welcoming his death with open arms. If Sebastian accomplished his intentions, the existence of the Nephilim would be wiped off the face of the earth anyway. But he had been born a Shadowhunter, loyal to the oath of the Angel, and he would not die cowering on his knees in the shadows. He would die standing, grinning into the face of Death itself with a weapon in his hand.

Alec and Isabelle and Simon and Magnus had all emerged through the Portal beside him, but they had immediately thrown themselves into the battle, Izzy with her whip coiling like a snake, Alec with his bow and arrows, Magnus with blue sparks firing from his fingertips, and Simon baring his fangs. Jace knew that this was it, the final battle of life and death, and his friends would either rise from the destruction as heroes or be remembered as one. They would fight till the end.

Though for Jace, it was never the end. This, he thought as he rose slowly to his feet and whipped out another seraph blade, was just another day at the office.

_"Ithurial,"_ he shouted over the screams, and then he launched forward and ran into the darkness.

* * *

Clary knelt to retrieve the fallen dagger. It had clattered to the ground after an Endarkened man had dispatched a Shadowhunter, but what else was she supposed to do? She was weaponless - Sebastian had snatched Heospherous out of her hands before he'd taken her to Pandemonium, and God forbid she hoped he hadn't wasted its secret strength - and defenseless, and she knew only too well, in many situations, how useless you felt when defenseless.

After she'd torn free of Sebastian, he had shown no evidence of pursuit; she had been swallowed up by the smoke. She stood amid the writhing fog now, coughing as it choked her lungs, staring around her as she clutched the hilt of the sword in her hands. The tumult of battle erupted all around her: the scrape of sword against sword, the cries of the injured, the gurgles of the dying - and a _zapping_ sound, very familiar to Clary's ears, that sounded very much like the coil of Isabelle's whip.

For a moment relief flooded through her - and then horror and realization dominated her, dragging her under until she swam in it. This is what Sebastian had been holding out for, the Shadowhunters, coming together one last time, and they would die here, at Sebastian's hand. Isabelle and Alec and Jace, her mother and, knowing he would not let her go alone, Luke, too. She kept telling herself that Sebastian was the reason for them being here, but that wasn't the entirety of the truth at all, was it? Of course their main intention was to destroy Sebastian and the Endarkened along with him, but for the most part they had come to save Clary. Jace - he had come for her, just like she had come for him when Valentine had taken him to Renwick's, just like when she had broken him out of the cell beneath the Silent City, when she had asked for him at the shore of Lake Lyn. And Jocelyn, too, had come for her, including Luke. Come for her, risking their own lives.

Just then, an Endarkened woman emerged from the smoke. It was as if the smoke had curled into the figure of a woman, shaping her until she became - a Dark Shadowhunter. She was brandishing a normal silver dagger and wearing a feral grin. Her red gear was soaked in blood, blood as red as rubies, Shadowhunter blood. Smeared across her face and mixing with the soot there. She took a step toward Clary, who tightened her grasp on the blade she held.

The Endarkened clucked disapprovingly. "Little Morgenstern," she said, her voice almost drowned out by the sounds of battle. "Your brother sent me ahead to find you and deliver you to him. Come now, little girl, and you will remain intact."

"If you're so loyal to your master, then why risk his wrath of betraying him?" asked Clary, who was merrily stalling.

"He said nothing about delivering your body to him, little girl," she drawled. "I could easily cut off your head and stick it on a spike for him."

Out of the corner of Clary's eye she caught a bob of fair hair in the smoke, making its way toward her. Clary kept her eyes on the Endarkened, forcing them to stay fixated on hers. "So go ahead," Clary said. "Disobey Sebastian's demands. He'll only kill you, you know that."

The Endarkened woman hesitated - only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Jace emerged out of the shadows and sprang like a lion, all blazing gold eyes and fire. The woman turned, her moment of weakness vanishing, and swung out with her blade. With a cry Clary brought up her own sword, and the two daggers clanged together like a pair of scissors, leaving Jace just enough room to drive his glowing seraph blade into the woman's heart. She went down with a shriek and collapsed backward.

Jace turned to Clary, and Clary caught the spark of something circling his index finger - the Morgenstern ring. A jolt went through her. He hadn't worn the Morgenstern ring since he'd given it to her the night he went after Sebastian. "Clary," he said, frantically. "Clary, I need you to listen. I need you to come with me."

Clary just stared. She was vaguely reminded of the Jace-who-hadn't-been-her-Jace when he had been connected to Sebastian. Something inside of her told her that this wasn't her Jace. He seized her wrist, opened his mouth - and toppled forward into her. She caught him - dropping her dagger as she did so - and stared up at the looming figure behind him.

Sebastian.

He was grinning as he lowered the brick he held in his raised hand. "You aught to know better than to run, Clarissa," he said, throwing the brick aside. "I will always find you."

Before she could answer, two Endarkened warriors emerged once again from the smoke and pried Jace's unconscious body out of her arms, moving so that his boots dragged across the ash. Clary let out an outraged scream and tore after them - only to be jerked back by Sebastian, who suddenly had his arms around her. Clary turned and pumped her fists against his chest, screaming, "I hate you! I hate you!" over and over again in a torrent.

But Sebastian only rolled his eyes and raised his other hand with a hammer in it. Clary froze. "I'm sorry it had to come to this," he said, and he brought the hammer down.

* * *

Izzy reeled back just as a fountain of black blood sprayed skyward like an electrical cable sent sparking and whirling through the air. Her whip recoiled, wrapped around her wrist. The scorch of the blood as it wrapped her arm helped clear her head and sharpen her vision.

As the Endarkend woman fell, it revealed Alec in the process of letting an arrow fly. It zapped through the darkness and vanished, lost to her eyes. Alec had used a Night Vision rune to get clear shots at the enemy, with Isabelle covering him. She knew it was selfish when her skills were needed elsewhere, but she would not leave her brother defenseless, even if the world was turning full circle.

The fog parted where they stood, like the way mist opened as you waded through it. Izzy could glimpse figures dancing at the edge of their clear circle as if they were dancing on the edge of a precipice. Screams ripped through the air, car alarms wailed, fires blazed up in the windows of houses and vehicles, animals howled, swords clashed. The noise was deafening, even to her ears, which made her battle instincts ignite with the ice of battle. It was a strange thing, she thought, to feel your blood ignite like fire and yet to be so cold midst the chaos.

"Cover me!" shouted Alec suddenly, notching another arrow.

"What do you think I've been doing for the past fifteen minutes?" retorted Isabelle. "Admiring the view?"

Alec raised his bow. "Maybe. I don't know. You could be searching for hot Silent Brothers."

Isabelle let her whip fly. It parted the darkness like a strike of gold lightning, slicing a path through the fog, until it curled around something, and she _jerked. _The whip pulled tight, and she reigned it in as if she were reigning in a boat at the docks. An Endarkened emerged on the ground, writhing and spitting profanities, his ankles caught in the teeth of the whip. Izzy pulled her whip free and it flashed down again, silencing him for good.

"Who needs a hot Silent Brother when there's Zachariah, who is, in fact, no longer a Silent Brother?" said Isabelle, her whip arcing out again. She raised her head when a streak of lightning cut through the sky.

"He is pretty hot," Alec mumbled. He was firing arrows one after the other, letting them fly before notching another.

"Alec!" For once Isabelle was astounded.

"What? You said he's hot. I said he's hot. He's hot."

"But - but Magnus -"

"He's hot, too," said Alec.

Isabelle smiled. For so long she had worried that Alec would never find love, for his stubbornness and suspiciousness would force anyone to turn in the other direction. She had been surprised when Magnus had fallen for him, not because she thought he was shallow enough to never find love in anyone, or because he was cautious, or because he didn't deserve or that he wasn't capable of love, but because it was shocking for him to have found someone who loved him for all those little quirks that made others dislike him. Those little quirks made him - Alec, and Magnus loved him for that.

It was only then as Izzy listened that she realized each arrow struck its target with a sickening _thump. _She was proud of her brother, and she knew then, without a doubt, that they were going to survive this.

* * *

A red-clad Endarkened loomed up over him, grinning from ear to ear, swinging an axe.

Jace rolled aside, but there was no need for him to have moved, for when he looked up, a sword protruded from the man's heart. It pulled out of him, and the man slumped forward with a gurgle.

A Shadowhunter fitted in black gear stood over him, a blood-slicked seraph blade in hand. A boy, who looked no older than twenty, with dark hair spotted with ash and glittering shards of glass, with dark eyes that regarded him affectionately. Angular cheekbones set in a very young and handsome face, pale skin smeared with black soot and blood.

"Jace Herondale," said Zachariah, and his voice caressed his name as if it were a gift. "Are you harmed?"

Jace scrambled to his feet, so fast it made him dizzy. "No, thanks to you," he said. A witty retort rested on the tip of his tongue, but there was something ... unnerving about Zachariah, almost an unusual air to his aura, that made Jace refrain from the sarcastic comments. "I owe you."

Zachariah smiled. "Nonsense," he said. "It is an honour to be in debt to a Herondale like yourself, especially the last of his name. I owe you my life, Jace, and don't you ever forget it."

"I gave you your life back," Jace pointed out. "Mayrse told me, when I was bound to Sebastian, you spoke up for me against the Clave to continue the search for me. And I gave you back your life. I was no longer indebted to you, but this kind of throws a weight in the balance, doesn't it?"

Zachariah opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, an Endarkened loomed up behind him like the devil himself, all clad in red gear and grinning teeth. Jace spun so that Zachariah's shoulder brushed up against his own, and brought his dagger up in a glowing arc. It flashed across the darkness, slicing open the man's torso in midair. A steaming tangled mess of guts and intestines poured out. Jace reeled back just as they splattered the ground at his feet, the body landing atop the mess.

He wiped the gunge off his blade with his sleeve, and looked up at Zachariah. The boy was regarding him with a thoughtful, almost saddened expression, as if he were remembering something - or some_one. _"I guess that settles the debt," said Jace. "Unless you plan on taking me to court."

He chuckled. It was a musical sound, soft and gentle, lost to the cries around them. "Herondales," he breathed. "It has been so long that I forget how you all seem to speak a different language from the rest of us. The wit, the commentary - you remind me of someone I once knew, before I became a Silent Brother." Their eyes locked, and Jace had the fleeting feeling that Zachariah was seeing not Jace but the ghost of that someone he once knew. A Herondale. His father?

Jace was about to ask when suddenly the two of them found themselves surrounded by Endarkened warriors, as if they had emerged from the smoke, brandishing daggers and axes and maces. Jace and Zachariah moved so they stood back-to-back, the way sometimes he and Alec positioned themselves when in battle when they needed to protect their backs whilst fighting. Zachariah was little of an inch taller than Jace was, their heads slightly touching, their shoulders melding together like clay, their hands clutching the hilts of their seraph blades as they readied themselves.

"It has been an honour to serve you," Zachariah said, "Jace Herondale."

"How very pessimistic of you," Jace replied, just as the Endarkened sprang, and Jace moved forward to meet them with his dagger.

* * *

_"Clary."_

A voice, floating amongst the darkness behind her eyelids. Jace's voice, though he didn't sound concerned so much as desperate. A sharp throbbing sensation worked its way through her body, starting from her head and shuddering all the way to her toes. She was afraid to open her eyes, terrified that she might be missing a limb or some other essential part of her body. But she realized that the pain was humming through _all_ of her, and that her body was, in fact, intact.

She opened her eyes.

She was in what looked to be an abandoned indoor parking lot. There was no ash here, though the faint screams of battle made Clary think that perhaps she wasn't so far away from the wreckage.

Sebastian lounged against one of the pillars, looking as beautiful and terrible as ever. His red gear was stained here and there with blotches of sticky sludge that looked a lot like oil, and his face and hair were smeared with soot.

"_Clary."_

Clary cut her eyes to the side and saw Jace. He was sat in a steel chair - highly unflamable - and his wrists and ankles were secured to the arms and legs with massive steel chains. Also unflamable. He looked sleep-mussed, his fair hair sticking up like a startled cat, his eyes dreary but blazing such a brilliant gold that Clary had to fight the urge to look away.

But she didn't want to look away. She was so happy to see him and yet utterly horrified. Sebastian had planned this all along, and they had walked straight into his trap.

"Greetings, happy couple."

They both turned and saw that Sebastian had shrugged away from the pillar and was pacing the space before them. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Clary thought he resembled a professor performing a speech.

"You haven't the slightest idea just how delighted I am," Sebastian went on in his smooth, silk-like voice, "for you to witness what I have created, darling sister and brother."

"You haven't created anything," growled Clary. "You destroy things. Lives, homes, cities. If that's creating something, then I must have missed the point." And then she added, grudgingly, "You obviously didn't hit me hard enough."

"Clary," Jace said warningly, but Sebastian only studied her thoughtfully, as if he were admiring a painting at an art gallery. "You disappoint me, Clarissa," he said. "You and I are so alike in a variety of ways -"

"I'm nothing like you," she said.

"Of course you are," said Sebastian, and suddenly he was inches away from her, his hands gripping the arms of the steel chair she was secured to and leaning over her until their breaths mingled in the inches that separated them. Clary wanted to cringe away from his nearness, but she forced her limbs to lock in place, stubborn and unmoving. "We are the Morgenstern's. The last of our kind. Your blood courses through my veins, just as mine does yours. We are the last, you and I. There is no one left on this forsaken universe that are alike us but ourselves. You are mine," he breathed, and he lifted his hand to gently place his palm against her cheek.

Clary blinked up at him, dazed. She was bedraggled, astounded at how alike he and Jace were. Like Jace, Sebastian was gentle with the things he loved, the only difference being that Sebastian mistook love for giving him consent to hurt those he loved in ways that were unforgivable, so long as no one else did the same to the things that belonged to him.

Sebastian moved his hand from her cheek, trailing it slowly, deliberately, down her throat, his eyes never leaving hers, until it shaped the curve of her breasts and hovered just over her heart, which leaped and skittered and pounded in her chest until she felt as if it were about to explode out of her. Clary's blood hummed as her brother sickened her with his touch.

"Get your hands off her," Jace hissed. Clary knew, and hated the knowledge of it, that lowering her eyes would give Sebastian power over her. So she stared him down, terrified as she was, until finally she won out and Sebastian grinned over at Jace.

He straightened and stalked toward him, prowling like a cat. "Jace - Herondale, is it? Have you finally decided who you are?"

The expression Jace wore as he craned his neck to look at him was one of total loathing. "I've always known who I am. My name is Jace Lightwood, the name everyone will remember when they ask of the Shadowhunter who stuck Sebastian Morgenstern's head on a pike."

"That is, am I correct, how the hero of Scotland, William Wallace, was remembered?" asked Sebastian. Clary couldn't help but notice that although he seemed to be shrugging off Jace's commentary with great restraint, she could see the drumming of his pulse at his throat, the impatient set to his lean shoulders, how he couldn't seem to remain still for longer than a minute. "After the English murdered him, they cut his body into fragments and scattered the remains across the four corners of the world, resting his head on a spike. He was known and is remembered to this day as a hero. Pretty courteous way to die, that." He leaned forward, touching his forehead to Jace's, and said, "But Wallace was murdered before he accomplished his true intentions. Whereas I - _I_ will be the one to wipe this world clean of Shadowhunters. _I_ will be the one to rid the universe of worthless mundanes. _I_ will be the one to rule, and I will be remembered as Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, he who ruled. _A true hero_."

"I don't quite believe you have thought this through," said a voice behind him, and Clary's heart leaped. "If you intend to rid the universe of every living creature, humans included, who will be around to remember you? The stale carrot sprouting from the ground? Unfortunate, that."

Clary saw Sebastian go rigid; a moment later he had spun, his hand flying to his belt. For once, Clary had the satisfaction of seeing him flabbergasted, though she wasn't concealing her confusion much, either.

"What's the matter, big brother?" Jace spread his arms wide. "You look … wrecked." Jace didn't look so dashing himself, Clary realized. He looked as if he had been rolling around in black paint. His hair was matted with ash and dried blood, not his own, Clary noticed with relief. His face was a black oval, his eyes blazing a brilliant gold and his teeth a startling white against the stark black of his skin. His eyes flicked briefly to Clary, a question in them; she nodded that she was alright.

And then realization dawned. If the Jace bound to the chair wasn't Jace, then who was he? Who was Jace? Which one of them was the real Jace?

A gasp echoed through the vacant parking lot. Clary snapped her head around - and stared. The Jace who had been sitting in the steel chair was spasming and gasping, and _changing._ His skin rippled like disturbed water, taking on a much paler complexion that contrasted starkly with his dark gear. His hair tumbled down around his shoulders, bouncing in waves to his waist, and suddenly chocolate was spilling down from the roots and coating the blonde waves until it was no longer blonde. His face moved, the bones beneath the skin reshaping themselves until they formed a pale oval, a face with elegant cheekbones, and eyes that were the colour of the sky before a vicious storm.

It was a girl. A girl Clary recognised, though she didn't know her name.

As they all watched in shocked silence, the girl jerked her hands and ankles free of the chains, now that they were no longer the size Jace's had been. She rose from the chair like a woman goddess, and even Sebastian, emotionless as he was, seemed stricken.

"I don't believe we've officially met," said the girl, in a very kind, sweet voice. "I'm Tessa Gray."


	3. Food For a Dagger

Clary stared.

_Tessa gray_. The name was unfamiliar, although the girl herself was not. Images flashed through Clary's mind, darting rapidly, each image arrested by a brilliant flash of light as another emerged: Angel Square in the capitol of Idris, silvery-blue lights entwined with the trees, mysterious pink and blue beverages; Jace, kissing her on the steps of the Accords Hall; and Magnus, his head lowered as he looked down at the dark-haired girl in the white dress. The girl's eyes meeting her own.

Tessa Gray.

The girl had seemed familiar back then, though Clary didn't know why.

Clary glanced over at Sebastian, who was trying to compose his shock to no avail. Scanning the vacant parking lot, she saw that all the eyes of her friends' were trained on her brother, assessing his reaction, no doubt.

Clary knew she ought to be pleased by this turn of events. Only she had known Sebastian's intentions then, and now she knew next to nothing. Knowing her brother as she did, this unexpected twist could throw everything into the inferno.

"What is this?" Sebastian spoke through clenched teeth. She could read the levels of expression in his eyes: shock, disbelief, anger. And then replaced by the blank, expressionless emotion she knew only too well. That darkness, so without feeling, frightened her more than his outrage.

"Everything you never expected," said Tessa with a polite smile. Clary wondered if the sight of her brother's fathomless black eyes unnerved the girl at all. In the depths of those ageless stormy eyes, Clary realized she had witnessed much worse horrors. "Though you have no right to ask me such things, when you are here, burning this beautiful city to ashes for entertainment."

Tessa took a step toward him, her gaze determined and unflinching. Sebastian regarded her with a scornful look. "You –" he began.

"But of course," she interrupted, "you do not intend on burning down only the great cities of this world, but the world itself. And where do you plan on retreating, Jonathan Morgenstern, when there is nothing but a charred wasteland of bones? Or perhaps you're going to build a home for your sister and yourself out of the bones."

"_I_ see," said Jace suddenly.

"What do you see, Jace Herondale?" said Tessa, never taking her eyes off Sebastian. It might have been fatigue wearing Clary down like lead, but was there _affection_ in Tessa's voice as she said Jace's name?

"Why he wants to spare Clary," he replied. He turned to Sebastian. "That's it, isn't it? Because your sister has the creative streak and you don't. You want her to build you a house from the bones of your victims, and then you'll add her to the structure." He cocked his head, golden eyes narrowed. "Why not spare a couple fabricators and save yourself the effort?"

Sebastian's lip curled in distaste as he spun to face him. Clary was momentarily struck by the stark contrast of them as they faced each other: Jace all fire and gold, Sebastian dark and something _other_. "Golden boy," Sebastian spit at him. "You ought to tread carefully on your words. Or I'll –"

"You'll what? Kill me?" Jace spread his arms wide. "Go ahead, brother. Do you think I fear you? Do you honestly believe I still could, after everything you forced me to do, when our souls were knit?"

Now Sebastian grinned, knowing and feral. It made Clary recall a night not too long ago, a faerie ring smashed to dust and an incredible weight bearing her body into the glass shards beneath her. Nausea rose in Clary's throat, and she swallowed, just as delicate fingers combed through her hair, once, twice, and then got to work on the manacles binding her limbs to the steel chair.

"Killing you would only cease your suffering, little brother," Sebastian purred. "And where's the fun in that?" He laughed, mirthlessly. "No. I want to make you suffer. I want to watch you lose every shred of hope. I want to witness the life seep from your heart. And what better way to do it than with my sister? I will force you to watch as she chooses me over you, as I get to know her … in _every_ way you can possibly know someone."

Jace's eyes blazed, and, without warning, he punched Sebastian in the face. Sebastian reeled backward, careened into the steel chair that had held Tessa.

"No weapon can harm you," Jace said, drawing a seraph blade from his belt. His hand dripped blood over his knuckles, though he didn't appear to notice. "Under heaven nor hell, no weapon can hurt you. No one said anything about fists."

Sebastian staggered to his feet, blood trickling in a steady stream from his nose. Light blazed up, and suddenly there was a dagger in his hand. "You will regret ever laying a fingernail on me, little brother," he promised, and then he sprang.

Jace and Sebastian were a tornado of bright flashes of colour: the blazing gold of Jace's eyes, the flash of white as Sebastian grinned, and the brilliant blaze of their seraph blades as they clanged together. They were a haunting symphony, knowing and deadly, each aware of the other's next step in the sequence.

Tessa had successfully worked the bindings free with a disfigured hair pin. Clary shot up – and was immediately overcome with a wave of dizziness. Tessa rested a steadying hand on her shoulder, but Clary shook her off, outraged with herself. She started forward, her blood itching to do something, anything that would prevent Jace from getting hurt.

Her mind, blinded by adrenaline and the ice of battle, barely registered the firm pressure on her upper arm. Clary turned and saw Tessa, restraining her with a death grip. The Morgenstern ring gleamed on her index finger, biting into Clary's skin, cold to the touch. "No –," Clary twisted, and then gasped as a sudden pain shot through her arm. The ring was burning, scorching her skin, so hot it felt cold.

Tessa, seeing Clary's evident agony, released her – and then her other hand came up and clamped around her wrist. She said, desperately, "I know you want to save Jace, but if he's a Herondale, he won't need saving." Her grip tightened. "Remember what your brother said?" she encouraged. Clary didn't; her mind was as sharp and focused as a camera lens, her heart pounding like a drum. She couldn't think, she couldn't _breathe_. "He said he could not kill Jace, because it would be too easy, did he not? He said the only way to make him suffer was to hurt you, Clary. _You_."

Clary had twisted in her grasp, but Tessa was unrelenting. "No, Clary. Listen to me. You must listen." Clary stared at her. "You must leave here. Go someplace where he cannot seek you –"

"There is nowhere he can't find me," Clary said, echoing Sebastian's own words. "I'm not a coward. I won't leave Jace –"

"No," said Tessa. "You're a Shadowhunter. You will do the right thing."

Do the right thing? Fleeing? That was the right thing? She had never been one to obey orders, not even from her mother. She was driven into action by love and compassion, by a desperate yearning to do _some_thing. What would running away accomplish?

But there was an expression in Tessa's blue-gray eyes that communicated itself to her, a silent discussion that promised she would be part of the bigger plan. And she had a plan.

With one last glance over her shoulder – just in time to see Sebastian slash out with his seraph blade, opening a shallow gash across Jace's chest; Jace seemed to growl and he stepped quickly aside, circling him, swiping out with his dagger repeatedly but keeping a safe distance – Clary turned and ran.

* * *

Jace was gasping. Shadowhunters rarely got out of breath; there were runes that sought to that. But refraining from driving his dagger through Sebastian's chest took every ounce of effort he could might. No weapon could harm him, so why even attempt the obvious kill?

No, Jace was simply causing a distraction.

Sebastian was quick to react, analysing Jace's movements before he made them, slashing out with his blade when he was allowed. Jace knew battle required no thought; it gave you away to your opponent. But thought was essential now, and it would get him killed.

Jace stifled a wince as Sebastian's blade cut a shallow gash into his chest. He felt the warm, sticky texture of fresh blood as it seeped down his torso. _Drat the Endarkened_. Their weapons had opened up slashes in his protective gear earlier, when he and Zachariah had fought them, leaving him with – little protection.

_"__It has been an honour to serve you, Jace Herondale."_

As a means of looking convincing, Jace curled his lip and stepped quickly aside as Sebastian brought his blade down in a glowing arc. Jace swung up his own blade, and their swords clattered together in a brilliant scissoring blaze of lightning.

Jace paused a moment, inhaling ragged breaths, and had the satisfaction of seeing a feral grin split the other boy's face. _Got you_, he thought, and suddenly, Sebastian lay beneath him. Jace, taking his distraction as an opportunity, had swung out with his leg and hooked it around his, jerking and swiping him off his feet. They fell to the ground, gasping and dripping sweat, Jace pinning the other boy's hands and both swords above the boy's head.

Sebastian laughed; it vibrated up into Jace's bones. "Not bad, little brother." Dried blood matted his fair hair. A steady stream poured from his nose and over his lips, tiny droplets clinging to his chin like scarlet rain. "You weren't much of a fighter back in Idris."

"I'll be more of a fighter than you'll ever be," Jace sneered. "You cower behind your Endarkened army like a coward. Shadowhunters run blindly into battle and sacrifice their lives for the greater good. You're not a Shadowhunter, and nor will you ever be."

"Convenient, that," said Sebastian. And then he snapped his head forward and cracked his skull into Jace's.

Jace reeled back, seeing stars. A dark silhouette loomed over him. A flash of white hair. A cool, sharp pressure against his throat. A sword.

"Hail, master Herondale," Sebastian said, and then he smiled and swung the dagger.

_"__It has been an honour to serve you."_

* * *

The raging street roared in Clary's ears as she emerged from the parking lot. Smoke swallowed her. The cries of the injured and dying enveloped her. Rubble and bits of broken glass crunched underfoot.

She couldn't see beyond the fog how far Sebastian had taken her from where she had started out; only that she was in the heart of it. New York was a battleground. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Glowing seraph blades shone in the glittering embers on the rickety ground; Clary snagged one, two, and stuffed a third through her belt. She was about to start forward when she caught sight of a humped shape hunched against the concrete wall of the parking lot. He cowered in a large indentation that had opened up in the tarmac, surrounded by jagged rocks and ash and blood.

Clary's heart sank as she raced toward him. Up close, she saw that his dark hair was coated in a thin layer of ash, too, the ends curling in the humid atmosphere. His face was smeared with soot and blood. His hand gripped his ribcage, but upon closer inspection, Clary saw that it wasn't his ribcage at all but the hilt of a dagger protruding from his chest.

She took in his gasping breaths, his face, taught with pain, his fluttering lashes, and knew he couldn't be saved.

She knelt beside him. "Zachariah," she whispered. Tears burned her throat. She recalled the many times he had supported her, had helped her, in the search for Jace.

His long lashes brushed his cheeks as they fluttered open, casting long spidery shadows over his pale cheeks. "Will?" he breathed. "Will, is that you?"

"No, it's me. It's Clary."

"Clary." His confusion slowly ebbed as he trained his eyes on her. "You're not Will."

"No, I'm Clary," she repeated. The rocketing pillars of collapsing skyscrapers diminished all around them, the cries and the smoke. It was just herself and Zachariah, and the wave of guilt that drowned her. _My fault, my fault, my fault._ "Who did this to you?" Her voice was sad.

"Endarkened." He grimaced, though whether it was pain or distaste, she couldn't tell. "They came out of nowhere, and yet they were everywhere. I had to save him. I –" He broke off for a moment, staring into nothingness, and then suddenly his hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist like a vice. "Did he survive? Tell me. You must tell me – I will not be able to bear it if the answer is no. Though I do not have to bear this pain much longer."

Clary was grim. She knew without asking who he was referring to. "Yes," she said. "Jace is alive." She blinked back tears. "You threw yourself in front of him."

Another building crumpled to rubble on the opposite side of the street, sending up a shower of debris and shards of glass and dust that rained down over the two of them. Car alarms pierced the air.

"There was no alternative," said Zachariah, weakly. "The Herondale's are _parabatai_ to me. Though where all _parabatai_ are entwined by an oath and a promise, ours is sealed with years of friendship, of love and memory." A faint smile passed over his bloodless lips. "Abandonment was never an option."

Clary stared numbly at the place where his hand had rested. Her wrist was smeared with a bloody handprint, as if it were verification that she was truly to blame for this. His blood, on her hands. "I'm sorry," she said finally.

She knew she ought to offer words of comfort, but how did one comfort the dying? To lie and say that everything would be alright, that he was going to be okay, that he would one day see the sun again, seemed oddly cruel.

The least she could present to him was the truth, however hurtful it may be.

"No," Zachariah murmured abruptly. Clary studied him, the dull gleam of contentment in his dark eyes, and realized that his mind was flashing through distant memories. "No, don't be ordinary like that. Say you'll train with me."

Clary smiled. There was something strangely satisfying that one could find peace in death. "Were you ever going to tell me your real name?" she whispered, her voice almost lost in the tumult all around them.

The boy flicked his eyes up to her. There was something ageless about him, the elegant curve to his cheekbones, the resignation in his eyes that told her he had witnessed the worst of crimes – and yet he looked so, so young. Far too young and innocent to be taken from this world. Too young, too soon.

Her mind screamed.

"My true name carries many burdens," he replied. Blood bubbled on his lips. "And it is a burden I must carry alone."

"But when you die, no one will remember you for who you truly are."

"There is only one who knows my true self, Clary," he said. "And he is long dead. And when I die, I will join him on the shore of another world. That is all there is."

_But what about those you're leaving behind, Zachariah?_ Clary wanted to ask. _What about Jace? Do you not think he deserves an explanation as to why you regard him so fondly? Do you not think you owe it to yourself, to leave this world with at least a sliver of hope that someone, someday, generations from now, might know your name?_

But she was spared when Magnus emerged out of the gloom and strode toward them. His glittering gear was free of blood. Only his stylishly arranged spikes were coated in a sheet of gray ash.

"Jem?" Magnus knelt on the other side of him. His face was stripped of emotion, but if Clary hadn't have known him better, she wouldn't have noticed the agony stripped raw in his eyes.

Zachariah – Jem – closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they glared at Magnus with such ferocity Magnus jerked back, staring. Blue sparks blazed suddenly from Magnus's fingertips. He went to press his palms against Jem's chest, but Jem grasped his hand, their fingers lacing together. The sparks continued to blaze like stars, illuminating their faces to an eerie glow.

"I will not allow you to waste your energy on me, Magnus," said Jem. "I am dying. I cannot be saved."

"I'm not going to let you die!" Magnus protested. "Will would have wanted me to save you if I could –"

"But I am beyond saving, and Will is not here."

Magnus and Jem stared at each other across their interlocked hands; Jem's, slippery with blood. Finally Magnus nodded reluctantly, but he did not release the other boy's hand. "I cannot save you," Magnus said, sadly. "But I can take away your pain, so that you will fall asleep painlessly. It is the least I can do." And, incredibly, he smiled thinly. "We have known each other many moons, Jem, you and I. I wish you could stay, so that you could be with Tessa. Will would have wanted that for the two of you, to be happy."

Clary wanted to ask what involvement Jem had with Tessa, and whether she ought to mention her whereabouts, but this was not a moment to ask such things.

"Tessa does not know about the cure," whispered Jem. "She believes I am still a Silent Brother. You must tell her, Magnus, that I am no longer here. But do not tell her that I was no longer a Silent Brother when I left this world. She would never forgive herself if she thought the two of us could have been a possibility."

Magnus nodded mutely.

"Much obliged, Mr. Bane," Jem said softly, and then he smiled, and closed his eyes, and died.

* * *

The dagger arced toward him.

Jace pushed off the ground and swiped out with his legs; Sebastian's legs went out from under him. He would have crushed Jace with his weight if Jace hadn't reacted with blinding speed. His hand shot out as the other boy fell, cupped his throat -

"Stop!"

Both boys paused in their squabble, and they turned to see Clary, standing mere meters away. She looked tiny and delicate, but Jace knew the fire and determination that drove her. Still, he couldn't bear to sit astride an endless current, useless and defenseless, as Sebastian's fathomless eyes raked her. He was about to order her to run - when he caught sight of the glittering shard of broken glass gripped in her hand.

And it was positioned over her heart.

"Stop!" she cried. "Stop, or I'll do it. I'll drive this through my heart."

Jace froze. Sebastian, saddled above him, went rigid as well.

"Clary," Sebastian warned. Pushing off Jace, he rose steadily to his feet, straightening with catlike cautiousness. Jace sprang up after him, eyes fixated on Clary. "Put the glass down, little sister. Don't do anything rash, now."

In response, Clary put pressure on the shard. She winced, and fresh blood slowly seeped from the wound, blossoming like a rose across her white shirtfront.

* * *

"Magnus," Clary began, quietly, "what did Jem mean, about Tessa?"

Magnus continued to stare morbidly at Jem's body. Ash had rained down, burying his still form in gray. He didn't answer.

"Magnus -" Clary tried again - and then cried out in pain as an agonizing pressure stabbed at her heart. Her hand flew to her chest. A shallow wound had been opened, not deep enough to cause serious internal injury but just a fraction of enough to cause blood to seep out and bloom across her shirt like a summer rose. She stared, flabbergasted.

"Clary." Magnus had roused himself out of his frenzy and come up beside her. He looked concerned. "What is it?"

Clary said, "I don't know."

* * *

Jace would have lunged for her there and then, but he steeled himself, overcome with a bizarre sensation of confusion. He could have sworn her shirt had been deep green. It was on a rare occasion when Clary wore white, with the complaint that it didn't suit her.

Sebastian started forward, but Jace, lithe as a cat, caught at his wrist. Sebastian gazed pointedly at the other boy's hand restraining him, but Jace pretended not to notice.

He took a cautious step toward her, and released Sebastian, where he remained. They both loved Clary, in very different ways, and Sebastian knew that, if it came down to a choice between the two of them, Jace would be the one to pull Clary back from the brink of suicide.

"He's right," Jace said, trying for humor. "We were just playfighting. Weren't we, brother?"

Clary made a choked sound, half-disbelief, half-fury. "I'm sick and tired of this," she said. "I'm tired of everyone I love risking their lives for me. Don't you know better? You knew there would be a catch, Jace. There always is with Sebastian. And yet, here you are, throwing yourself around mindlessly. Because of me." She glanced down at the glass shard, breathing hard. She added, half to herself, "I can end this. All it would take is a little ... push ..."

Jace lunged as if in slow motion, but it was too late.

She pushed.

* * *

Clary screamed.

White-hot agony tore through her body, twisting her insides, choking the air from her lungs.

_Tessa,_ Clary thought.

Magnus cupped her face between his palms, forcing her to meet his eyes. He looked so ... shiny. A mountain of thick black fog rose up behind him like a massive looming monster. Clary caught the darting slivers of silver as glass rain down from buildings. The darting figures of the Endarkened within the smoke. The sensitive sound of sword on sword.

"Tessa," Clary mumbled. She rested her head against Magnus's chest, suddenly feeling very tired. "Tessa ... I need to find ... her ..."

"Clary." Magnus shook her, not gently. "Don't you dare leave me, biscuit."

"Magnus ... I need to tell you ..."

"Tell me what?" Clary closed her eyes; Magnus's grip tightened to the point of pain. "_Tell me what, Clary_?"

"Sebastian," she said. "I know how to kill him."


End file.
